Chapter 3

"Busy night?" asked Willow, grinning, lifting an eyebrow at the sight of the dark circles under Buffy’s eyes.

Buffy blushed. "You can say that again."

Willow looked over to where Spike was coming through the swing doors of the library and grinned even wider when she saw dark circles under his eyes too.

"What?" said Spike, noticing her stare.

"You look...worn out."

Spike snickered. "Oh, yeah. Five hours straight can..."

"Spike!"

He ducked, laughing, as Buffy flew at him, fending off her hands as she tried to cover his mouth and shut him up.

"Red knew already."

"Well, you don’t have to tell the world! Ooh!" she gasped as he retaliated, a flood of vivid feelings and images of what they had been doing all night coming over the link. Her whole body heated. "Stop that!"

"What’s he doing?" asked Willow interestedly.

"Playing games." She pushed at him and they wrestled, laughing.

"Getting all hot and bothered, Slayer? Pity Watcher’s office has a window. Would have liked to do you on top of his desk."

"I wouldn’t have thought that would stop you," Willow murmured and Spike laughed.

"It doesn’t." He sighed deeply. "She’s the one with inhibitions."

Willow giggled helplessly and Buffy gave her a reproachful glance.

"You’re as bad as he is."

Spike fell against a table, then hooked a hip on it and pulled Buffy around to lean back against him, his arms about her waist and his chin on her shoulder. She smiled and turned her head to rub her face against his. Xander came in the swing doors and winced at the sight, but said nothing.

"He’s learning," said Spike softly in Buffy’s ear.

"About time," she muttered back.

Giles, following Xander in, caught sight of them and went bright red as the memory of his conduct last night came back. "Um, good afternoon, Buffy. Spike. How are you today?"

"Nothing like good old British pretending-that-nothing-happened," murmured Buffy in Spike’s ear and he grinned.

"Aside from going at it like rabid minks, they’re fine," chirped Willow, then ducked away, laughing, as Buffy swatted at her.

Xander looked sick and Giles started polishing his glasses.

"And then there is the good old American rub-in-whatever-happened," remarked Spike, amused. "How did you like Ixtal booze, Watcher?"

"Tactful as ever," muttered Buffy and Spike laughed unrepentantly.

"Actually," said Giles with commendable honesty, "I enjoyed it very much. Quite an experience, I must say. An interesting sensation. Very pleasurable. But to be repeated very sparingly."

"Clever Watcher. You’re right."

"But I thought you said it was non-addictive," Buffy said with surprise.

"It’s not physically addictive. But it feels so good, you can still get hooked. Feeling everything that intensely can be addictive in itself." He grinned at her. "Want me to get some more for tonight, Slayer?"

"God, another bout like last night’s and I think my heart would stop! But I see what you mean. It is tempting."

"For special occasions only. If you’re writing last night up in your Watcher’s diary, Rupert, I’d leave that part out. Wouldn’t want your Council getting tempted. I think they might fall easier than you."

Giles frowned. "Most of them would resist it quite as well as I."

"Quentin Travers and his people seem a little more susceptible to temptation," muttered Buffy.

Giles opened his mouth to protest, then said nothing. Spike looked at him thoughtfully.

"That way, is it? What does this Travers look like?"

"I might have a picture somewhere," Giles began, then looked around in surprise when Spike laughed.

"Bit like a toad, isn’t he, luv?" he said to Buffy. "Can just see him swelling up with importance."

"What did the two of you just do?" asked Giles, his eyes widening behind his glasses.

"I’ve seen Travers," Buffy explained. "So I just sent Spike a kind of...video clip of what he looks like."

"You can do that? Extraordinary!" A fanatical gleam lit his eyes. "What else can you do?"

"Oh, God!" Spike groaned. "He’s gone into research mode."

"We have to look into this,"Giles insisted. "This is too important to just ignore!"

"Giles, you can’t write up anything about the claim," Buffy said firmly.

"Oh, not for the Council. Just for my notes. This is so unique!" He pushed his glasses higher on his nose. "I’ve been stupid. I’ve been so distracted with other things. I really should be looking into the ramifications of the claim. You even asked me to, Buffy. Is it like telepathy? Can you talk to each other?"

"No. It’s just feeling, emotions, images. That’s all."

"Maybe later," Spike corrected. "Might happen. Some vamp partners do talk to each other over the link. Don’ know how the claim will work with us, she being the Slayer and all."

"Would the two of you mind my doing a few tests? I know you’re way past the Zener card and Ganzfeld experiment stage, but..."

"No, Giles," said Buffy flatly.

"Got that right," muttered Spike. "Not gonna be a bloody lab rat for you."

"But..."

"No, Watcher. Dalton!" he called in relief as a tentative, bespectacled head peered around the swing doors of the library. "Come on in."

"Not another vamp," muttered Xander resentfully. "Why not bring all the fangers in?"

"That’ll be tomorrow," said Buffy with a perfectly straight face to Xander’s horror. Spike kept his face carefully expressionless, but she could feel him laugh over the link.

"Ma’am," said Dalton, nervously ducking his head in greeting. "Spike said that the Watcher would be interested in this book."

"Book?" Giles looked around at once. "What book?"

"It’s a kind of Brachen grimoire iniquitatis," Dalton said, holding it out to him. "It’s in an odd sort of dialect, but one of the Brachens was able to give me a dictionary."

"Good Lord, this is rare!" Giles was already poring over the shabby volume, delicately turning the crumbling parchment pages within the hard wooden covers. "Do you think you’ll be able to translate it?"

"I think so."

Buffy looked at the two heads bent absorbedly over the book. She and Spike grinned at each other.

A few days later, Giles and Dalton were deeply involved in translating the grimoire, sitting shoulder to shoulder at one of the tables and passing the Brachen dictionary back and forth. Giles had even forgotten about writing up his journal in his fascination with the new book.

"Great," muttered Xander in disgust under his breath, "now they’ve got Giles being best pals with a vamp."

"There can be some benefits to that, you know," a sultry voice purred behind him.

Xander whirled and found himself staring at a tall, lovely redhead studying him thoughtfully with languorous, feline eyes.

"W-who...?"

"My name’s Carla and I’m a vamp." She reached out a hand and ran a long fingernail along his jaw. "In every sense of the word. And who are you, eye candy?"

"Zuh...Xander."

"Cute name." Her eyes ran down him, then so did her fingernails, lightly down his chest and stomach. "Very cute."

Xander found himself backed against the wall and breathing very fast. He gulped hard.

"There can be a lot of benefits being best pals with someone like me," she purred, her open mouth teasingly a fraction of an inch from his. "I could show you what they are if you like."

"No eating the Slayer’s pets," Dalton called. "You know the rules, Carla."

"Wasn’t going to eat him. Well, not exactly." She smiled into Xander’s glazed eyes. "Not...that way."

"Shouldn’t play with the food either."

"But that’s the best part." She ran her fingernails back up to Xander’s neck. Xander’s knees started to fold. "Not even the tiniest nibble? You’d like it."

"I’m sure he would. But, no, Carla," said Buffy’s amused voice behind her. "He’s off-limits."

"Oh, well." Carla drew back, shrugging, and smiled at Xander. "You would have liked it."

"Damn!" muttered Xander. He was certain sure that he would have and was feeling distinctly sorry that Buffy had arrived when she did.

"What’s up?" Buffy was asking Carla. "Did Spike send you?"

"No. Willie the Snitch asked me to come. Seems there’s a Gorvalsh near his bar and he’s scared."

"What’s a Gorvalsh?"

"Superbig demon. No brains. All grr-arrgh and nothing else." She clawed the air in demonstration. "That type. Y’know?"

"Giles?"

Giles was already searching through his books.

"They do a lot of damage," Carla said. "That’s why Willie’s freaking out. Kinda like having a wild beast roaming the streets."

"Axe time again," muttered Buffy, reaching for one.

"Here," said Giles and held a book out to her.

"Pretty," said Buffy dryly, studying the engraving he was pointing at. The Gorvalsh was massive, with a head that seemed to be mostly a maw full of triangular, shark-like teeth. "From the how-the-hell-do-you-pronounce-that dimension."

"K’t’shlk," Carla said helpfully, looking over her shoulder.

"Bless you. Have a tissue."

They grinned at each other.

"The thing is," Carla said, frowning, "portals between this dimension and that one are very rare."

"You think someone opened one?"

"I’d suspect it. Either by chance or on purpose."

"Giles, could you look into that?" Buffy hefted her axe. "While I get rid of it."

She could feel Spike, over in the factory, suddenly come to attention, picking up her warlike mood. A query-feel came over the link and she sent back reassurance and denial. A flash of negation came back immediately.

"Oh, for Pete’s sake. Carla, do me a favor. Go over to the factory and tell Spike to stay put. It’s full daylight outside. This one’s not a nightcrawler. It’ll stay in the open and he won’t be able to help."

"Right."

Willie’s bar was in one of the most run-down and seedy areas of the town. Even though it was late afternoon and there was plenty of sunlight, there were still lots of shadows in which the thing could hide, among all the narrow alleys and boarded-up buildings. She combed the area carefully, then saw a flash of movement down one alley—a hulking shape running. It knew that it was being hunted; it had that much intelligence. She went after it quickly, but cautiously.

"Slayer! Over here."

She ran to him. "Spike, go back! You can’t help me. It’s day."

"I’ll stay in the shadows. This thing’s dangerous...There it goes!"

They chased after it, Spike having to make detours to stay in the shadows. It whipped into an area that was all abandoned factory buildings, some of them three or four stories high, their windows broken and boarded.

"God, if it goes into one of those, it’ll be like a rat-hunt," Spike muttered. "Dangerous for you. Only thing good is that then I’d be able to help."

"It’s doing a King-Kong!"

The Gorvalsh had found a building that had a clutter of ropes and cables dangling off its four-storey height. It had jumped and caught a rope and was now scaling the side of the building, with gorilla-like agility.

"That was an eight foot leap," Spike said. "It’s got power."

"Slayer with an axe here. So have I. I’ve got to get in there. There’ll be stairs inside. I’ll be able to get to the roof. Stay here...Spike!"

He had pulled his duster over his head and was now racing across the sunlit street. She ran after him, cursing.

He smashed through the broken front door and rolled into the shadowed lobby of the building before he could catch fire. Buffy flung herself after him.

"Damn it! Damn it! You reckless...stupid..."

He grinned at her. "But not on fire, pet. Stairs over there."

They ran up them. It was the kind of older building where the stairs did open up onto the flat roof. The door at the top faced east, so Spike was still protected from the sun when he threw it wide. But that was as far as he could go. He looked with frustration at the blaze of sunlight pouring over the gravel of the roof. They could both see the Gorvalsh just heaving itself over the waist-high parapet that ran around the roof.

"If you could work it this way, pet, and shove it into the stairwell, then I could help you."

"I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee it. Right." She hefted the axe and stepped out into the sunlight. "Come on, Big Ugly. Want to play?"

The Gorvalsh hissed and threw itself at her. She slashed at it and danced away. It made another hissing sound when the axe cut it, kept hissing like a steam boiler as it struck at her; it didn’t seem to have any other voice. It was fast despite its bulk and it had long arms, which she couldn’t allow to reach her, for then it would drag her towards those steel-trap jaws and their gnashing teeth. But with the axe, her reach was longer and she was able to keep it at bay.

She couldn’t get it anywhere near the stairwell where Spike could help her. It was aware of his presence there and knew him to be an enemy, refused to be either lured or pushed in that direction. She could feel Spike’s frustration and worry vivid across the link.

It had a metal collar around its neck, almost like a dog collar, except made out of thick squares of steel, two inches deep. There were gashes across it as if the Gorvalsh had been clawing at it, unsuccessfully trying to get it off. The collar made it difficult to cut its head off and yet the neck seemed to be the most vulnerable part of it. She had to aim for that fractional space between the collar and its jaw, a tricky target to reach.

Spike yelled suddenly and crashed his fist against the metal door of the stairwell. The Gorvalsh whipped its head around to stare at him and there it was—that tiny extra inch as it craned its neck. Buffy struck hard and accurately into that space. The blow took its head half off and sent her staggering away from it towards the parapet. The Gorvalsh hit the ground with a thud of flesh and a clash of metal, spasming wildly as it died.

Buffy put out a hand on the wall to keep her balance and laughed at the look of relief on Spike’s face.

The Gorvalsh blew up.

It was an explosion of such magnitude that, even though she was five feet away, it still knocked her right over the parapet. If she had been standing beside the Gorvalsh, she would have died. As it was, she had a four-storey fall that would make that happen anyway.

She heard Spike scream her name as she fell, both with her ears and over the link. She twisted frantically, catching for something, anything, to break her fall. Her fingers snagged the decorative ledge running around the building two storeys down, nearly slipped off it again as her weight came crashing down onto her extended arms. Then she was hanging there, gasping.

She kicked at the wall, trying for a foothold, but could find none. She looked from side to side desperately, but only the ledge stretched away on both sides; the windows both above and below were out of reach.

Something brushed her shoulder. She looked around. It was a rope.

"Grab the rope!" Spike shouted. "Buffy! The rope!"

She looked up and saw him leaning over the parapet, the other end of the rope that he had thrown her wound around his hands.

She caught at it, then realized that he was standing in full sunlight, right out there in the open, in the full blaze of the sun.

"Spike, get back! Spike, you’ll burn!"

"Climb!" he yelled back. "Faster you climb..."

The faster he would be able to get back to the shadows and safety. She climbed and he hauled. But, over the link, she could sense that he didn’t expect to get back. There was a stillness in him, a quiet, almost smiling acceptance. A fury filled her, that after all they had gone through, he should still burn, except here in the sun instead of at the Hellmouth.

Spike was pulling as hard as he could on the rope. He could feel the heat of the sun on his skin and he didn’t know how long he had. He only hoped he could get Buffy over the parapet before he turned to dust.

On the street below, he could see someone running towards the building. It was Giles. He didn’t know how Giles came to be here, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be able to help. Even vampire speed would not be able to make it up four storeys of stairs in time. A middle-aged Watcher, however well intentioned, would never be able to do it.

Almost there. Just a few feet more and he would have Buffy safe. He could hear Giles panting as he raced up the stairs, still two storeys short.

Got her. He caught her wrists and yanked her over the parapet. Her weight came on him and they both fell, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Giles burst, gasping, out of the stairwell.

"Giles, your coat!" Buffy screamed at him. "I need your coat!"

"It’s all right," Spike said, amazed. "It’s all right, pet. Look! I’m not burning up!"

He held out his hands in the sunlight, staring at them in wonder. Buffy was holding him fiercely tight. There were tears on her face. Giles had bent over, his hands on his knees, wheezing from the run. They were both staring at him in disbelief.

"But how...?" Buffy whispered.

"The claim!" Giles exclaimed. "I read it, but I didn’t believe it! He can walk in the sunlight. It’s...it’s unbelievable! The two of you end up sharing traits. Then the rest of it must be true as well. If he can walk in the sunlight, then..."

"Then what, Giles?" Buffy demanded.

"You’ll stay young and live forever, the way he does. An immortal Slayer," Giles said blankly and sat down on the parapet as if his legs had given way under him.

He went on talking, harping on that, going over implications, consequences, ramifications... Neither Buffy nor Spike was listening. They were holding each other convulsively tight and all they were hearing was the terrified thought in both their heads reverberating back and forth over the link: ‘God, I nearly lost you!’

"Buffy? Buffy?"

"Oh, sorry, Giles. I wasn’t listening." She leaned her forehead against Spike’s and they both laughed softly.

"Yes, I could see that," Giles said.

Spike stroked her hair tenderly, then got to his feet and pulled her up with him. He looked up at the burning sun and laughed incredulously under his breath.

"Can’t wait to see if I freckle," he said lightly, but she could feel the wonder and amazement in him.

"Guess we’d better get down from here. Giles!" she said suddenly. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, yes. That little Firoud, the one who came before? He came looking for you, but you had just left. It seems that one of his people had come across the Gorvalsh and smelled something unusual. Dimethyldinitrobutane."

"Di-what?"

"It’s a detection taggant that’s added to certain explosives so that security dogs who are searching for them can sniff them out. The Firoud apparently have similar olfactory capabilities. He came to tell you about it. He missed you. But when his people sent word that you were in this area, I came to warn you."

"Explosives! The Gorvalsh blew up."

They all looked at the smoking remains of the Gorvalsh. There was very little left.

"They don’t usually," said Spike dryly.

"It had a collar around its neck. Thick squares of metal that could have held something. Rigged to blow if I hit it, maybe? The collar hit the ground really hard when it was throwing itself around like that while it was dying."

"Or rigged to blow when it died," Spike suggested. "They could have had some sort of system to detect that. You would normally have been standing right over it. The blast would have taken you out too."

"They who? Who would want to do that?"

"Hard to get that kind of device or make one," Giles mused. "Very sophisticated."

"Certainly not a vamp or a demon," said Spike. "We all tend to be pretty straightforward. Fangs and claws, that kind of thing. Could it be those government people you were talking about, luv? This would be right up their alley."

"The Initiative?" Buffy shook her head. "Can’t be. They’re not even here yet."

"Someone opened a portal. Someone brought the creature through into our world. That’s what Carla said. But it’s odd." Giles bit thoughtfully at the earpiece of his glasses. "Anyone who uses magic wouldn’t be that familiar with technology this sophisticated, and anyone who knows the technology normally wouldn’t know magic. They don’t usually go together."

"Is there any way of finding out who opened the portal, Giles? That would probably be the best place to start."

"I do know a few people I could ask," Giles nodded. "There’s a couple of covens in England who might be able to detect and pinpoint that kind of magical disturbance."

"Do it fast, Watcher," growled Spike. "Might happen again." He nodded as Giles’ eyes widened. "If someone’s gunning for my girl, we wanna take ‘em out quick, before they get lucky."

"Oh, good Lord, yes!"

"We were lucky this time. If she hadn’t been standing five feet away when that thing blew up..."

"If you hadn’t thrown me a rope," Buffy murmured, her arms tight about his waist. "If you hadn’t been immune to sunlight..."

He kissed the top of her head. "Too many ifs for comfort."

They made love with fierce intensity that night, too aware of how much they could have lost.

"Be careful. Be careful out there," he muttered against her mouth. "Couldn’t bear it if..."

"I’ll be careful," she promised.

"Love you. Love you so much, pet."

This Spike and the Spike who had burned up in the Hellmouth were the same. Never doing things halfway. No soul, but loving utterly, ready to sacrifice himself for her without a thought. She held him so tight that she would have broken his ribs if he had been an ordinary human. He just laughed.

"And I love you, Spike! I’m not going to let anyone take this away from us, not after all we’ve gone through!"

Neither of them had remembered at the time that they would both die if one of them did. That was not the way their minds worked. All either one of them had thought about was the other.

"We find this wanker, ‘m gonna rip his head off," he muttered.

But it was Spike who got attacked the next time.

It was a couple of nights later and Buffy and Giles were at her flat. Willow and Xander had just arrived and Buffy was just reaching into the box of donuts that Xander had brought when a jolt of pain and surprise came over the link.

"Spike!" she gasped, jerking upright.

Xander dropped the box. "What?"

Buffy was already racing up the stairs. Spike was furious, slashing out at someone. A jumble of images was coming across the link—men’s faces, a dark street, a broken sign. All the images were oddly hazed and cloudy, but she recognized the sign: ‘Threads.’ An abandoned store not two streets away. He had been on his way to the flat.

Stakes! She glimpsed them through his eyes.

He ducked the first one, then a blinding wave of pain came over the link.

"No!" she screamed, hurtling through the streets.

The pain didn’t stop, but she could still feel him hitting out at someone. He was still there! He wasn’t dust!

"Spike!"

Then she saw him. Sagging against a wall. There was a clatter of heels receding into the night as three forms raced away down the dark streets.

"Buffy." He grinned at her as she reached him. "‘S all right. Didn’t get the heart."

She caught him as he bent over in pain. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Groggy." He yanked the stake out from under his ribs and threw it away angrily. "Bloody hurts. Jumped me. Ran when they heard you. Sodding cowards."

She looked in the direction the attackers had fled, her teeth clenched in a snarl. "I’ll..."

"They’re humans. You can’t let yourself hurt them." He leaned on her shoulder and grinned nastily. "Besides, they’re already sorry. Cut ‘em up a bit, bust a few bones. They’ll be hurting a lot longer than I will."

"Can you walk?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Let’s get you back to the flat."

He took a step and swayed wildly. "Bit wobbly, like. Shot some stuff into me."

She looked to where he was pointing and saw a hypodermic syringe lying on the ground. Xander and Willow came running up, with Giles panting behind them.

"Xander, help me get him to the flat."

Xander nodded and, without question, got his shoulder under Spike’s free arm.

"Willow," Buffy called back as they began to move towards the flat, "bring that hypo, but be careful. Don’t prick yourself on the needle. We don’t know what’s in there."

"Right."

The minute they got back to the flat, Giles was studying the syringe.

"There’s still a little of whatever they injected into him left," he said, holding the syringe up to the light. "I wonder..."

Buffy was easing Spike’s T-shirt off.

"Whoa!" Willow gasped when the wound was revealed. "That must hurt, Spike!"

"Bloody does," he agreed. "But it’ll heal up in a couple of days."

Giles had slipped the needle out of the syringe and was sniffing delicately at the contents.

"I know what this is," he said. "It’s an immobilizer."

"Is that why I’m feeling so groggy?" Spike gave the syringe a dirty look.

Giles gave him a puzzled one. "Just groggy? You shouldn’t be able to move."

"Yeah, they were surprised too. Jumped me, shoved that stuff in me, then seemed kinda upset that I didn’t just lie there and let myself be staked."

"Maybe the stuff doesn’t work on vamps," Xander suggested.

"But it should," said Giles. "It’s one of the two or three poisons that do work on vampires. What kind of blood have you been drinking, Spike?"

Spike grinned at him. "Slayer blood. What else?"

"Eww!" exclaimed Xander. "Buffy! You let him drink from you?"

"Yes, of course. It’s a real rush." She grinned at Xander’s horrified face.

"No wonder it didn’t take," Giles said. "Slayer blood’s the antidote."

"Probably shouldn’t even be feeling groggy," said Buffy, finishing bandaging Spike. "Must be low on gas. Wanna top up? It would be good for the stake wound as well."

"Oh, yeah." He pulled her across him, grinning, so that she was leaning back against his chest, then slid his lips down her neck.

"Oh, God, do you have to do that?" groaned Xander, looking sick as Spike’s fangs sank into the claim mark on Buffy’s neck. Even Giles looked queasy.

"Looks like they’re both enjoying it, Xand," remarked Willow, looking on thoughtfully.

"Like I said, a real rush," purred Buffy, her eyes half-closed sensuously as Spike drank.

Spike retracted his fangs, licked the wound to close it, then kissed Buffy underneath her ear. She giggled.

"Worked. Not groggy anymore," he announced and laughed at the looks on Giles’ and Xander’s faces.

"Please do that in private the next time," said Giles plaintively.

"Almost hurled," Xander muttered in agreement.

"So these guys that jumped you," Willow said, tactfully changing the subject. "They were human?"

Spike nodded. "That’s why I wasn’t paying attention. Aside from the Slayer, no human is any kind of threat to us. Got to be the same ones who put that explosive collar on the Gorvalsh’s neck. Too much of a coincidence otherwise."

"I don’t know," Xander objected. "Could be just some vigilantes got it in for vamps."

"Like Gunn’s street gang or Wesley being a rogue demon-hunter, you mean?" said Buffy.

"Who?" everyone asked, puzzled, and she shook her head, laughing a little.

"Sorry. Other reality." She frowned thoughtfully. "Spike’s right. It’s too much of a coincidence. Giles, did that coven of yours come up with anything?"

"Not yet. Whoever opened that portal and brought the Gorvalsh through did it very professionally. The coven hasn’t been able to find any traces. It’s not some novice."

"Experts," said Buffy. "I can understand why they targeted me. But why should they jump you, Spike?"

"To get me out of the picture, maybe. Make it easier to get to you. They meant to dust me."

"But that suggests that they know what we are to each other."

"Well, it isn’t that big a secret, with all the vamps and demons knowing."

"But they wouldn’t talk to humans," said Giles. "And these men were human."

"Someone’s behind them," Spike growled. "Those three, they were just muscle. No mastermind there. We’ve got to find out who, Watcher. The next time they might not miss."

The next time they didn’t.

Buffy was ambushed on her way to school two days later. Spike was asleep in the flat, but the jolt of shock and anger that came over the link brought him awake in a flash. He tore into his clothes, seeing the images coming over the link: the street half a block away from the high school; the unmarked, black van parked at the curb; the faces of the three men coming at her, faces that he recognized. The images were hazy, with a grogginess that was familiar to him. They had managed somehow to drug her too. He ran, forgetting even his duster in his haste.

He was too late. Her vision went black before he could get halfway there and, by the time he got to where they had attacked her, the street was empty and the van gone.

The only thing that remained to show what had happened was a small dart lying on the pavement.



TBC